


Twisted Nerve

by starkholic (celestialassassin)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, American Horror Story Murder House AU, Attempted Murder, Blood, Closeted Character, Cole Lives, Crossover, Death, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gore, Graphic Violence, Implied Sexual Content, Infidelity, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Mentions of War, Murder, Panic Attacks, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Infidelity, Psychological Horror, Sexual Content, Sucide, Supernatural Elements, Surgery, botched surgery, dark themes, endgame is hankvin, mentions of child death, read the warnings inside, though everyone will pretty much sleep with everyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 05:26:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18844540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialassassin/pseuds/starkholic
Summary: American Horror Story: Murder House AU | Gavin peered from the stained-glass windows as he saw moving trucks pull up to the front of the house. If his heart still worked, it would have clenched uncomfortably in his chest. He scratched the exposed exit wound in the back of his head out of habit; a grim reminder of what this place had done to him. A seed of nerves planting inside of him about what the house would do to this new family.orThe Andersons move across the country for a fresh start in a creepy old mansion. Some ghosts are okay with their presence. Others aren't. Will they be able to leave before it's too late?





	Twisted Nerve

**Author's Note:**

> I want to start off by thanking a lot of the people from the Hankvin discord. Specifically Monica, Tash, Church, and Storm. They are all incredibly talented people who had to deal with my constant questions about this story. 
> 
> Lots of warnings for this one. For pairings, know that everyone will essentially be sleeping with each other at some point, but the endgame is hankvin. I'm not all certain on who Connor will end up with but if anyone has any suggestions feel free to let me know. 
> 
> Most of the characters will have some pretty gruesome deaths so be prepared for that. This is called Murder House for a reason. I will say right now Cole will live. 
> 
> I will also say that none of the characters are inherently evil. A lot of them were good and still have good intentions but are heavily poisoned and influenced by the house. The voices of the house will be particularly cruel to the characters. There's mentions of infidelity and mentions of internalized homophobia for certain time periods. Tags will be subject to change with updates.

Leaving Detroit wasn’t something that Hank ever saw himself doing but certain situations made it seem like the best option. The move hadn’t been something he looked forward to, but his wife had insisted it would be good for them and their 6-year-old son to be in the golden state. He’s going to miss Detroit dearly. It was his home and part of him, but he wanted what was best for his marriage and the life of his only son. 

So, if that meant moving thousands of miles away to an old as fuck house on the outskirts of Los Angeles then so be it. The house had more space than he was comfortable with or used to. He wasn’t one for ornate decorations or long hallways, but he prided himself on being able to adapt to new surroundings and so begrudgingly gave this place a chance.

 

He and his wife have been doing better, they were communicating more and comprehending each other’s needs. It was nice seeing her this excited about anything and Cole’s excitement was also on the list of pros for moving. The warm California weather has been kind to them and the six-year-old is excited to be able to play outside in shorts in the middle of winter with their dog. Hank was going to miss the snow, but he could always go back and visit.

 

They had taken out a mortgage on this place and so it was a done deal, they had to make it work or who knows what they’ll do. They needed to make this work. Their couple’s therapist had told them moving away from the space of harm would help their relationship heal as well as ignite a new sense of commitment to each other and their small family.

 

Their old home in Detroit had been considerably smaller (Hank’s decision), but his wife had always wanted something a bit more extravagant. Hank wasn’t one for anything fancy, so he never minded their humble home.

 

Things began getting rocky in their marriage when Hank noticed his wife wasn’t spending as much time at home as she was at work. He had caught her having an affair with one of the nurses when he had peeked at one of her emails. Hank’s heartbreak was too much to bear and used alcohol as a crutch to help carry it. Their relationship was slowly falling to pieces and Cole started paying the price. Once he had captured the attention of both parents when things got sour it turned into having both of his parents ignoring him and not knowing why. The little boy began blaming himself and his parents clung onto the guilt that drove him to feeling that way.

 

Moving away was a fresh start. New house, new state, new possibilities. Seeing his wife and son so happy made him want to try harder to enjoy this place. The house was extravagant; not his taste at all, but he had to admit it was beautiful. Whoever designed this place (he knows the realtor told him he just wasn’t listening), had a keen taste that had aged well.

For the first time in a long time, he has hope.

\----

Gavin peered from the stained-glass windows as he saw moving trucks pull up to the front of the house. If his heart still worked, it would have clenched uncomfortably in his chest. He scratched the exposed exit wound in the back of his head out of habit; a grim reminder of what this place had done to him. A seed of nerves planting inside of him about what the house would do to this family.

 

He felt a chill run down his spine as he noticed something lurking in the shadows behind him. Something familiarly sinister, something that wanted no one in the house it had built and would do anything to get their privacy. The smell of rubbing alcohol, ether, and rotten flesh wafted into the hall.

 

“Fuck off, Nines.” he muttered, his eyes never leaving the family.

 

The shadow remained but didn’t say anything, joining Gavin in watching the small family move in and make this miserable place a home. He watched the smile on the little boy’s face as he skipped around in the green grass in front; the massive dog barking happily, wanting to play with him. Images of his tiny lifeless corpse floating in the bathtub flashed in his mind and Gavin disappeared, not wanting to think about it. This house would not claim them.

 

\----

 

The first day in the house is something Hank couldn’t forget even if he tried. There were creaks that kept him tense and bumps in the night made his senses go on the fritz. As a police officer, every bang could mean anything, the urge to investigate was too strong. Going to sleep wasn’t going to be easy and spent most of the night staring up at the Tiffany chandelier in their room. The guy who built this place seriously paid no expense.

 

At 2 AM he heard Cole giggling and happily chatting with someone. The noise carried all the way from the other end of the hallway. Cole wasn’t one for imaginary friends and he shouldn’t be up this early. It was enough for concern.

 

Hank got up and looked at his wife’s sleeping form before leaving. The bangs of her hair placed over her peaceful face. She looked rested. A trait he hadn’t seen in her in a long time. Another reminder as to why he was here.

 

Back in Detroit she wouldn’t be home for days. Most of the time it seemed like he was raising Cole alone, he understood that her profession was demanding, but he would often need to remind her that his was as well. Her profession always pulled her away and Hank had gotten used to it. That is, until he realized that she was spending her nights in someone else’s bed. Going to bed and seeing the empty side of the bed knowing what she had done had made him miserable. But seeing her here, knowing she was doing all she could to right her wrong by being here meant something to him. They were both trying. He hoped it would be enough.

 

Walking into the dark hall, he turned on the lights and dimmed them to the lowest setting giving the hall a creepy tint he tried to ignore. As he followed the sound of Cole’s laughter the floor creaked behind him as he walked. It started off further, approximately 10 feet away, but was beginning to come closer and closer. A cold sweat formed on his brow as he could feel a threatening presence behind him, the lights beginning to flicker. He left his gun in the nightstand next to his bed, and he was embarrassed to admit he was too afraid to turn around and get it. The faint footsteps quickly transitioning into booming thuds that seemed to crack into the floor.

 

He picked up the pace and could feel the thing practically stepping on his heels, the smell of something sweet mingled into the air. Hank summoned the courage and came to an abrupt stop. Turning around ready to fight, fists clenched in front of him. His eyes blinked in surprise when he saw that there was no one there. The smell lingered for a few seconds before vanishing.

 

He stared at the spot where he thought a person was, believing if he stared hard enough something might appear and reassure his fears. A few moments pass and nothing happened. He lets out a tired sigh, running a hand through his silvering locks.

 

“I’m goin’ crazy.” he whispers to himself. Perhaps he was just over exerting himself and seeing things. That was something that could happen. The dull pounding in his head attesting this theory.

 

Cole’s laughter broke him out his thoughts and earlier concern. Right now, the only thing on his mind was getting Cole to bed. He continually checked behind him not being able to rid himself of the feeling that something watching him. It was just his imagination. Too many late-night ghost stories in his youth mingled in with the stress of a move and previous threat of divorce.

 

The old hardwood floor creaked under his weight alerting Cole of his arrival. He spotted him sitting on the floor with one of his older toys on the ground. Coles was holding the red locomotive and the forest green train car was five feet away from him laying on its side.

 

Cole beamed at him and turned to the other side of him, where the green train laid on the floor, chirping “This is my dad!” his face fell into an expression of confusion when he noticed no one around him.

 

“Hey, where’d you go?” looking genuinely lost, searching for his alleged playmate.

 

An uneasiness gnawed at Hank with Cole’s question. Maybe the stress was getting to his son too. Not everyday your parents stop paying attention to you and develop dangerous coping mechanisms and move you a thousand miles away from your home at the slim chance of a reconciliation.

 

“Cole, who were you talkin’ to buddy?”  kneeling to his level on the floor, trying to hide the worry in his voice.

 

“My new friend.” Cole replied happily, still wearing a smile on his face. There was a tiredness on his face as his small hands tried to rub the sleep away, he let out a yawn.

 

“Friend huh? What was your ‘friend’ doin’ here so late?” going along with whatever game Cole was playing hopefully getting more answers this way.

 

“He says he lives here.” Hank felt an itch of anxiety. Was it this same thing that followed him earlier? He shook the thought from his head, there was no such thing as ghosts or monsters. Only evil he needed to worry about was humanity.

 

“What’s their name?”   


Cole beamed again.  


“Connor.”  


\---  


“What the hell do you think you’re doing sniffin’ around that kid, huh!?” Gavin yelled as he pinned a younger looking man against the wall all while the conversation with the father and son was happening.

 

The other man looks unfazed by Gavin’s shouting of obscenities, the family completely oblivious to the ongoing fight. The more passive of the two had chestnut brown hair that was parted neatly to the right, wearing a light blue patterned sweater vest, white button up with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and thin dark green tie peeking around his neck.

 

Angered by the lack of reaction he pulled him away and banged him against the wall again a loud thud resonating through the hall that could be blamed on the old plumbing. Gavin shook with rage while the other man looked at him with a neutral expression.

 

“Answer me, you fuckin’ asshole!” Gavin grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and growled, his teeth barred anger boiling inside of him lifting the man from the ground.

 

“I mean him no harm, Gavin. You forget, I had one of my own and cared for him dearly, I simply wished to make myself known to him. Welcome him to his new home.” Connor replied smoothly, a small smile decorating his soft features.

 

“Yeah, _had_. Don’t go off raising some kid that isn’t your own. You can’t have him.” the warning tone in his voice inflicted no emotion from Connor. The house got weird when there was a child thrown into the mix. He had no clue what it was but the way they talked about children, some of the souls craved the purity and innocence they no longer possessed. It creeped him the fuck out. He doesn’t know if Connor was one of those spirits, but he wouldn’t overlook Connor out of caution.

 

“If that is all I can help you with, can you let me go now? I need to get back to writing my novel.” Connor waits patiently as Gavin shoots him another glare and then lets his shirt go, plopping him to the floor.

Connor gives Gavin a faint smile before making his way to leave. He turns his back to Gavin, his 28 stab wounds that were ripped into him becoming visible, his sweater torn exposing the wounds as the crimson seeps into the fabric of his sweater vest.

 

A cold chill runs down Gavin’s arms, seeing Connor’s back always left him with a bad feeling. He remembered asking him how he died, and Connor told him “You’re going to have to read it like everyone else, Mr. Reed!” always writing a book that would never be published.

 

Connor would forever be writing a book he would never finish. Gavin had once peered over at Connor’s typewriter and watched him write the same sentence over and over. What this house does is unnatural. It captures someone in a brief period and replays that moment for an eternity making them believe they are living their life. For the most part they were lucid and aware of their surroundings, but a lot of the older ghosts still believed they were living in their own time period not knowing and not wanting to know of how much time had passed since their deaths.

 

Gavin was the most recent addition to the house. This was still his era, so he was more grounded to the events that transpired and the most moral since he hadn’t been here as long as the others. He was certain that a hundred years from now, if the house had stay, he would be reliving a fantasy ignorant of how much time had passed.

 

There were good people who lived here. Each one having their lives and souls plucked by the house. Their souls are not meant to stay on this plane for an eternity. Even Nines wasn’t always a sonuvabitch. On days where Nines was particularly chatty, he would tell him about his time during the Roaring Twenties recounting old tales of his accomplishments in medicine and surgical techniques. Gavin would ask how he died if he knew the question wouldn’t cause Nines to give him one of the creepiest smiles he’s ever seen.

 

Gavin’s eyes followed the scene unfold in front of him once Connor had left. A loving father picking up his beloved son and walking them back to the little boy’s room. He watched the genuine smile on the father’s face, laugh lines around his mouth. Seemed like a good enough guy. Handsome too.

 

He never wanted to see them in this house again. He needed to make sure they left, before anything happened to them. How would the house and others react to someone so young being bound to this house? Watching that boy chained to this eternal purgatory was not something Gavin wanted to see.

 

The lights flicked off as the father switched them down for the night after tucking his son back into bed.

 

Gavin stayed at the end of the hall and watched the older man’s back disappear into the dark of night the creaking followed him back to his room and heard the door shut. The lights in the hall flickered back on to their lowest setting.

 

He had work to do.

 

\--  


Hank and his wife woke up to the sounds of banging and crashing. Hank quickly had the sleep kicked out of him; his wife let out a yelp in surprise her hair all messed up from her earlier state of unconsciousness. Hank grabbed the gun from the night stand and went to make sure Cole was okay.  


The alarm blared through the house and rushed to go turn it off. The lights in the living room were on. Hank slowly approached the room with his gun up, hand on the safety.

 

“I’m an off-duty police officer, come out with your hands up or I will call backup.” he warns before entering the lit living room.  


Hank’s eyes widened as he saw the wallpaper ripped from the walls leaving it bare. Dark red painted letters that spelled **“LEAVE”.**  


Hank just stood there and lowered his gun. Some kids must be pulling a prank and welcoming them to the neighborhood. He checked on Cole just in case. Everything was fine, nothing was stolen, just the damaged wallpaper they were going to replace anyway. What a night. This house was just more than he bargained for. What kind of shit did he sign up for?  


Connor didn’t stifle his amused chuckle as leaned against the top of the stairs watching the father looking at the ‘blood’ letters on the wall.  


“Was this really all you thought of?” seemingly unimpressed by the other’s lack of creativity.  


Gavin’s eyebrows knit together in frustration.  


“Shut. Up.” he bit out.  
 

“A noble attempt, but it was childish at best. You need to do better.”  


Gavin hated asking for help. Especially with someone like Connor, at least he wasn’t as smug as Nines or the other spirits in the house. How is that shooting himself in the head was easier than swallowing his pride? He didn’t know what Connor’s motives were in helping him, but he didn’t have many choices.  


“Oh yeah, think you can do better?”  


A smile curled on Connor’s lips. Gavin almost regrets asking.  


\---

 

_The room spun as he laid down on the soft bed littered with cigarette butts and empty bottles of wine. The strong scent of vomit, smoke, and sweat enlaced to create a foul smell into the air. Anything to stop the thoughts and voices but they wouldn’t shut up. Gavin heard whispers and screams telling him how worthless he was. He got up to try and escape them, stumbling his way into the hallway._

 

_‘You’re a complete waste, no wonder everyone left.’ they would hiss and seethe at him at all hours of the day._

 

_Everyone had left him. There were no more parties. No more ragers. None of his family visited anymore. He had told them all to get out of his life. He had told all his friends to fuck off. He just wanted to be alone. Drink the days away; pop a few Vicodin to make the pain stop. Anything to stop the voices from coming. Anything to stop seeing the dead that walked this place. Visions of people who had died in miserable ways and were forever attached to this cursed home._

_Your mother was right to abandon you. Should have done everyone a favor and drowned you the second you were born.’_

  
They knew his insecurities, his hopes, dreams, fears, and failures. They burrowed their way into his head laying their eggs of doubt into his brain. Drugs, alcohol, hypnosis, self-inflicted pain, nothing worked. 

 

_“What do you want from me?!” he shouted at the voices throwing the half empty bottle of wine against the wooden floors. The red wine seeped through the cracks as he slunk down against the wall, tears and sobs escaping. His entire body shook with each cry. He moved his hands over his ears and screamed._

 

_“Please, stop!” he begged and pleaded but they wouldn’t cease. Multiple voices at once would constantly tell him how worthless he was. No matter how much he drank, no matter how many pills he took, the voices were always there._

 

_A gentle tap on his shoulder caused him to open his bloodshot eyes and look up. The first thing he noticed was cold steel blue eyes looking down at him with a warm kindness. Gavin felt at ease, something he hadn’t known in such a long time. The man stretched out his hand and wipes the tears that streamed down his face. He never said a word but treated him and looked at him like everything would be alright._

 

_The man held something in his other hand and offered it to the crying man on the floor. He put his hands on Gavin’s and opened his fingers with care before placing the cool gun in his hands and helping him close them around the grip. There was only one way to escape the voices._

 

_The voices had almost stopped at this point a dull whisper in the back of his head. He could stop this forever. He looked down at the gun in his hand and then back up at the stranger. The man gave him a sweet smile and ran a hand through his hair. It felt so nice. Gavin’s hand shook as he brought the gun closer to his face._

 

_He parted his lips and the man watched him happily as he slid the gun into his mouth._

 

_\---_

 

A bright purple ball rolled the hallway aimlessly and bumped into Cole’s leg. Cole looked up from the tablet in his lap. He let out a small noise of surprise as he felt the ball touch him. He looked up to see the kind smile of his new friend.

 

“Hey, Mr. Connor!” a toothy grin appearing brightly on his face.

 

“Hello, Cole. What are you doing there? What is that?” he peers at the tablet. There was what appeared to look like a flashy game. It was gaudy and colorful with advertisements on each corner. Connor didn’t know what it was.

 

“It’s my dad’s tablet, he’s letting me use it to play games.” his eyes going back onto the screen moving the blocks with the touch of his finger.

 

Connor thought it seemed unnatural. He’s never seen anything like that. This seemed like something so advanced, like a small television, but so much sleeker and with color. Connor felt himself wanting to break the tablet, but he knew that would frighten the small boy.

 

“How fun.” he forced out. “I must get back to writing. Enjoy yourself, Cole.” with a small smile. Cole waved without looking up from his game. Connor walked down the hall and disappeared.

 

He appeared in the basement clutching his chest, trying to forget the impossibly brilliant screen on the tiny television the child held. It was unnatural. Time was moving so quickly, and he was trapped in this godforsaken place for eternity. Things would continue changing without him. His time has passed, forgotten in the waves of new items, music, and culture that was constantly being thrown at him. He was stuck in this time and longed for 1938 again.

 

“What’s the matter, my dear?” a smooth voice came from the top of the stairs of the basement. Connor didn’t need to breathe but still found it hard to. He paced counting his breaths. The footsteps clicked closer. He wanted to go back. Time was moving too quickly.

  
  
A woman wearing an immaculate white suit with heels to match. Her dark hair braided and cascading down her shoulder. There’s an air of grace and poise that surrounds her as she makes her way to Connor’s trembling form.

  
  
“I can’t be here. I shouldn’t be here. This is wrong. Amanda, I can’t stay here.” his breath shaky as he dug his fingers hard into his arms as he held himself as panted. Droplets of blood painted the gray concrete below him. His stab wounds bleeding out and seeping into the dark blue fabric of his shirt and onto the floor.

  
  
She came closer and in an instant was in front of the anxiety riddled man. She put a finger under his chin and lifted his head so that his eyes were meeting hers. He stopped shaking his eyes glossy with unshed tears and he seemed hypnotized by her gaze.

  
  
“Everything will be alright.” she promised, a smile curling on her red painted lips.

 

\----

 

_Constant tapping resonated throughout the dimly lit room with the occasional high pitched ‘ding’. This was going to be his next big hit. He was going to write the next American classic. Romantic novels and mysteries that left people at the edge of their seats is what he would be known for._

 

_Passion. He could write about the feeling all day. A warm hand held against his own. Mouths swallowing each other’s moans when they were pressed up against one another. Sweet stolen kisses under the stars with their fingers interlaced. The weight of cock in his hand. Deep moans, sharp jawline, dark eyes that spoke of a secret danger. Strong arms that swept him off his feet._

 

_Of course, he couldn’t publish that. He needed to change the pronouns for the sake of society and his poor wife._ _  
_

_Connor wasn’t like the other husband’s in the neighborhood. He loved his wife but not the way she wanted him to, not in a way that was possible for him. Her soft curves and plump full lips weren’t enough to please him. She was a beautiful, strong woman, but she wasn’t for him. His editor on the other hand, his hair mussed as if he spent the day running his thick finger through the black locks and a suit that hugged him in all the right places. It wasn’t love, but it was close enough for him. He didn’t even know if he felt the same way and it was too dangerous to ask._

 

_The sound of the door creaking open didn’t stop his vigorous typing in the least. Heeled footsteps approached his desk when he failed to acknowledge the presence._

 

_“Connor aren’t you coming down for supper?” a sweet voice filled the room, thin arms wrapping around his shoulders._

 

_“I would dear, but I have to finish this chapter and visit with my editor afterwards. I have much I still need to do.”  
_

_“It’s 7 o’clock. Surely you can meet with him tomorrow. Little Daniel hasn’t seen you in so long, he misses his father.”_

 

_Connor felt a pang of guilt. Ah yes, his ‘son’. A true miracle baby seeing as Connor doesn’t remember or was even capable of creating him with her. They both had their secrets they’d never share with one another._

 

_The young boy was a delight, sharp as a tack. He would raise and claim him as his own although they both knew he wasn’t. Their lives a sham they would need to keep living in order to make it work._

 

_“Tell you what, I’ll finish this chapter and meet with my editor tonight and tomorrow I’ll take the whole day off to spend with you and Daniel.”  
_

_Her lips curled into a sweet smile._

 

_“Sounds swell. You work so hard.” she presses a kiss to his temple and Connor places his hand on hers. They share a brief moment of silence before she takes her leave, hips swaying as she does._

 

_Things were going as well as they could. He married at the tender age of 19. They had met in college, he would often be seen writing alone and he suppose his wife thought it was an attractive quality. She was his best friend. That’s all she would be to him. Had he been born differently they could have been happy. Tomorrow he’d make it up to her and keep up this facade._

 

_However, tomorrow would never come._

 

_He stayed a little later than he intended. He had just finished up his passage, an erotic scene that left him aching to see his editor, the sight of him would be the only thing to pacify him. Wanting the taste of his cock in his mouth but knowing it would never happen. The forbidden fruit that he longed to eat and feel the juices dribble down his chin. He left his study and quietly made his way downstairs, hoping his wife and son were already asleep to ease the guilt of his fantasies in his heart._

 

_It took him a few moments to get ready to leave for the night, the sound of the floors creaking caused him to swivel his head to the source of the noise. His wife at the foot of the stairs. Her face hidden by the dark of night._

 

_“Sorry, dear. Did I wake you? I was on my way to my editor.” He gives her a weak smile, walking towards her, noticing she had something in her hands._

 

_“You forgot your novel in your study.” her voice carrying no emotion whatsoever. Connor could have hit himself; he forgot the one thing he needed._

 

_“How foolish of me. Where is my head today? Thank you, darling.” Going to take the manila envelope from her and spotting a gleaming of something sharp behind the envelope. His heart pound as he sees the knife in her hand, her eyes full of fury._

 

_“Sweetheart, put that down before you hurt yourself!” he pleads with her, attempting to pry the blade from her hands but she wouldn’t have any of it._

 

_“I’ve had it with your distance. You will no longer make me look like some fat-headed dame who doesn’t know the difference between her left and right foot! You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing?!” She pointed the blade at him, and Connor took steps back, using the envelope as a shield, as if it would help._

 

_He had never seen her like this. She was slow to anger and when she did it was a slow and silent anger, nothing like this._

 

_She lunged at him with an angered screech and Connor ran. But not fast enough. She tackled him to the ground, and he felt the first stab found go through his right shoulder blade. He let out a pained cry thinking about how she could have possibly found out._

 

_He lost count after the 10th stab. The blinding pain making it impossible to think straight. Everything went black._

 

_\---_

Connor could let Gavin play hero while he could have his own fun. He didn’t want the family to meet their end here, it was just a little too crowded in this place. His favorite place to hang around was his old study, which just so happens to be of no use save for storage. He likes writing here, knowing he won’t be bothered by the others. It’s not often he gets people coming in, politely asking them to leave when they interrupt. He’s one of the older ghosts, and therefore has the most influence and power when it comes to the strange capabilities and phenomena that occur in the home.

 

However, he’s not stupid. There are ghosts far stronger and more convoluted than he is. When those ghosts come and interrupt his writing time, he won’t push back. Right now, is one of those rare occasions.

 

“What can I do for you, Nines?” There had been no creaking of the floor to indicate his arrival, yet the heavy presence could be felt from a mile away. Nines was one of the first ghosts to ever walk these halls and had an incredible amount of pull. He was often well-mannered and well-spoken, not one to anger quickly. That was until someone new moved in.

 

He had designed this house to accommodate his tastes. He loathed the idea of anyone but him seeking pleasure that this home provided. As far as he was concerned, the other spirits were simply his guests and any mortal who moved in were seen as intruders that must be taken care of.

 

“How fairs your plan in removing the most recent tenants?” His voice came out cool as he stood behind Connor’s seated form.

 

“Well, thank you for asking.”

 

“It’s been a few months. You know if it takes longer, I will have to deal with the situation myself.”

 

“I have asked Amanda to give me more time.” Connor knows Amanda has a soft spot for him. No one knows of her origins. No one knows what time she’s from or when she got here. Connor remembers her from when he arrived so she must have been older than he was. He also knows Gavin has never seen her. Perhaps she believes he’s not worthy of revealing herself to him. Seems like something she would do.

 

Nines lets out an amused huff, “You know her word only goes so far. I’ve been generous enough as it is. I want them gone.” His eyes turn to dark steel.

 

Making his way over to Connor’s desk, sitting atop it, crossing his legs over one another, Connor is no longer paying attention to his novel. Nines being this close made him nervous. 

 

Connor kept his bravado, outwardly seemingly unfazed by Nines’ presence. He knew what Nines would do. He’s seen him do it before. He wasn’t always like this; the house does this to a spirit after dwelling here for too long.

 

Connor remember when he was the newest addition to the house and Nines’ had only been dead for less than twenty years. He was much more agreeable, less prone to these passive aggressive threatening remarks, less prone to spilling innocent blood. Over the decades he’s seen him lose his patience and demanding his privacy. Nines had shown him kindness when he first arrived to this plane witnessing how he met his end. They had grown close over the decades, so it pained him to see what was once a good man transform into some silent wrathful entity that roamed the halls of the cursed place.

 

Nines’ places a soft hand on his cheek. Connor longs for the touch. The afterlife making him starved for the attention and affection and he’ll take it whenever he can get it. He wasn’t always like this but this house had made his hunger eternal.

 

“You know what needs to be done.” Nines cranes his neck down to come a few inches away from Connor’s face.

 

“You can’t have them stealing your little stray’s attention. Or mine for that matter.” Nines’ knew exactly what to say in order to manipulate him. It hurt. Another reminder of how cruel Nines’ intentions have turned. He would have never used Connor like this in the past. They were friends.

 

Connor’s felt the other man’s lips brush against his own and a pleading whine escaped his throat. Nines’ smirk into the soft kiss and then broke it pulling his hand away. Connor felt a pang of shame at his own desperation. He tried not to let Nines’ get to him, but this house made his self-control so weak.

 

“I will not let you hurt them.” Connor tells him. Nines’ gives him a smile as brilliant as the sun. Connor tries not to melt.

 

“I don’t want to. But we’ll see.”

 

\---

 

_The Great War that raged in Europe came and went. Richard or ‘Nines’, a nickname given to him in the trenches, dedicated his surgical skills to stitching up soldiers who were brought to him as nothing more than bleeding piles of flesh. He was well known for his facial reconstruction and skin grafts before the war which is why they called upon him to serve in a battlefield hospital in Belgium._

 

_He stitched men up who were often viewed as lost causes, taking risks no other surgeons would and held the scalpel with such precision and dexterity it was attributed to saving the lives of dozens of soldiers._

 

_They had won the war and that’s when his career really took off. His fame came when he started to conduct facial reconstructive surgery on soldiers who had been horribly disfigured because of the war. His time in the battlefield hospital honed his skills and lit a fire inside of him when it came to putting people back together and improving them to the best of his ability._

 

_He opened a small practice in California where his clientele became more civilian than he was accustomed to. Average looking people who longed to be attractive movie stars and would pay any amount of money in order to get their 15 minutes of fame on the silver screen. The transition from fixing jaws that had been completely blown off to fixing up a dent in someone’s perfectly functional nose had been a jarring one._

 

_Shell Shock was something common amongst soldiers returning from Europe. Something that hindered them from living a regular life. Richard was no soldier, merely a doctor in a warzone, but he had seen his fair share of bloodshed across enemy lines. He thought nothing of his increased anxiety and the night terrors that plagued his dreams. The most bothersome trait he had picked up is his inability to tolerate loud noises to the point where he would have to cancel appointments in order to recover. He wasn’t suffering from anything, he told himself, simply the stress that came with living._

_A beautiful young woman came by seeking his services wanting something done about her nose and cheeks. She was a stunning blonde haired blue eyed aspiring actress with a shy smile.  Richard had done the procedure on dozens of people. It was simple for someone with his level of skill and it paid the bills. A craft he excelled at over time._

_The first incision was always the most exhilarating. He was good at what he did and could already see the results as clear as day. When he came back from the war he had started a tradition of taking a huff of anesthesia for the nerves. It stopped his hands from shaking so much; an annoying habit he had picked up after the war._

_He must have miscalculated his intake as he became a bit light headed causing him to bump into the equipment stand, dropping all the surgical tools onto the floor. The sudden crash and bang made him jump morphing the surgical suite into a dark canvas tent. He looked down as his patient was no longer a beautiful insecure 21-year-old girl, but a man missing his legs, face horrifically mutilated by some shrapnel that cut deep into it._

_‘Kill me!’ the man had managed to gurgle through the blood that spilled from his mouth. Richard’s hands shook the scalpel in his hand trembling along with it. He rolled up his sleeves as he heard gunfire from outside. He quickly got to work on the man’s face. It was hard holding him still, he ordered a few of his fellow soldiers to hold him down as he howled in agony._

_Carefully maneuvering the blade in his hand, he worked with precision on trying to remove the pieces of metal that had exploded and pierced just about every inch of the poor soldier’s face. He could hear him scream each time he tried to clean off the blood that kept spilling from his multiple wounds, his face was dripping dark red. With each piece of metal removed he placed them in a pan next to him as to make sure they were secure._

_He wiped the sweat from his brow, his army issued beige uniform stained red and crusted in dark brown. He closed his eyes and flicked them opened them, the man was no longer there. In his place was a girl. A girl? He looked up and around. This was no longer a dim dank tent in a Belgian warzone, but his office, in a lavish house he had designed to his exact liking._

_The clink of the scalpel falling to the floor reverberated around the sound proof room. Looking down to see his patient. He looked at the pan where he put the supposed shrapnel digging through it only to find chunks of his patient’s face, no signs of metal buried in the flesh anywhere._

_He looked at the young girl, he had ripped out and cut out pieces of her face. Her once gorgeous face was now a bleeding mess. His eyes widened in horror at the sight._

_‘Oh Christ, what have I done?’ he murmurs to himself in disbelief as he back away from the girl’s unconscious form. She would be ruined. She’d never complete her dream of wanting to be a famous Hollywood actress. She would be forced to hide, ashamed of the scars he had left behind. Her life would never be the same. Her life was over._

_But what about him? He would be ruined. One bad job and a job as bad as this one. He is supposed to be the best. His work is perfect. Flawless. He is perfect._

_‘You can’t let some wannabe actress from up north ruin your entire career just because she wanted a new nose.’ a voice came to him. He didn’t know where it was from. He didn’t care. He looked at the girl. She was bleeding out._

_Richard stood there and watched as the blood flowed down the drain. He supposed he did all he could. She knew the risks. After a few minutes, Richard stepped closer to the girl when she began to stir, a pained moan escaping her lips. He panicked briefly before the voices assured him she would be fine._

_‘Looks like she could use more anesthesia, a LOT more anesthesia.’ a dull whisper informed him, swaying his clouded morality._

_He brought the mask closer to her face and let her breathe the sweet-scented ether. Turning the knob to its highest setting, he watched as she had gone limp again. After 20 minutes he checked her pulse. She was gone._

_‘Oh, well.’ he told himself standing up straight, peering down at the lifeless body on the metal table. He needed to dispose of his little indiscretion. No one needed to know._

_He never took on another patient after that. After all, they can be untrustworthy, unpredictable. Just up and die on the table and he would be left with the blame despite his flawless technique. What was the point? He wanted to perfect his craft. He wanted to be the best in his field, and he was. He just needed to be better than the best. He needed to be superior._

_The search for the perfect patient was not an easy one. Locating people who no one would miss was something only the deranged did. Why waste his talents on nameless people? Finding the perfect patient came to an end all on accident._

_Chopping some vegetables for that night's supper he had sliced one of his fingers open. Blood spilled all over the cutting board. He needed stitches quick or he could lose his finger and what was a surgeon without his hands? He huffed on few puffs of ether and quickly got to work on the stitches. He didn’t feel a thing. Putting his finger closer to his face he noticed the stunning perfect stitches. He hadn’t even felt any pain save for the occasional feeling of intense pressure but nothing else. His long hunt for the perfect patient was over._

_Over the next few weeks he would perform countless surgeries on himself with the help of painkillers to ease the stress of being doctor and patient at once. Botox was simple even untrained professionals could do it. Those with medical degrees were just as untrained as those doing it in back alleys yet you paid for the false sense of security.  Nines steered clear of that, why mess around with injectables when he could make permanent change with his blade. He went about fixing up his cheek bones so you could practically cut someone with them when they were complete._

_He supposed his jaw could be sharper. The marker outlined exactly where he needed to cut. Black ink contrasting on his pale skin, it was hard to miss. All he needed to do was pull the skin tighter and it would him the appearance of a sharp jawline. After a few huffs of ether his body became lax. With the scalpel in hand and a mirror to help him follow the dotted line he should be able to finish this procedure no problem. Everything would be fine._

_His eyes were getting increasingly difficult to keep open with each blink. His eyelids felt so heavy. When he opened his eyes, he spotted a girl behind him in the mirror. Did he have a patient? No. He stopped booking appointments months ago. She looked familiar but he couldn’t place from where._

_His head felt fuzzy. Ah, yes, this must be his nurse. She held something in her hand. A marker? She appeared in front of him in an instant and felt faint wet tickle on his throat. The line on his jaw seemingly vanished and only a dotted line along his exposed neck remained._

_“Get on with the procedure, Doctor.” her tone gentle with an underlying taunt, but Richard couldn’t find it in himself to dispute. He’d have to fire her later for her unprofessionalism. He should finish up quickly as he didn’t feel too well. Bringing the scalpel up to his throat his hand unsteady as he struggled to find the line as his vision spotted._

_The ‘nurse’ comes over and places her cold hand on his to steady his hands. She does so in a way that the sharp blade syncs up perfectly with the black line._

_“Thank you, nurse.” he slurs._

_He makes the first incision and he feels no pain. There is an intense pressure building up against his throat. The nurse continues to guide his shaking hand. Warm blood begins to pour from the slit in his throat as he lets out a choking sound. His eyes never leave his own in the mirror as the ‘nurse’ guides his hand to complete the deep incision._

_The only thing he can hear is a faint ringing in his ears as he struggles to holds himself up. The last thing he sees is the satisfied that smile that is graced on the red lips of his nurse. His eyes try to focus, but her face begins to ooze red blood that came from various wounds. He doesn’t remember the rest._

\---

 

Hank sighed as he examined Cole’s report card. Coles’ teacher had explained his was doing fine in everything except reading, he was progressing at a much slower pace than the rest of his peers. The move, the imminent divorce, he had explained the situation and the teacher understood. She recommended that they send one of their tutors to help Cole catch up with the rest of the students.

 

While Hank wasn’t happy about his marital problems getting in the way of Cole’s education, he knew he needed to take necessary steps in order to repair it. It had been a few months since they had moved into the new house, he figured it wouldn’t solve everything, but something must have slipped through the cracks. The teacher gave him the day when the tutor would be coming by to meet him. He supposed he would have to just deal with it.  

 

Resisting drinking had been getting more difficult as time went on. It started out with having an occasional glass of wine his wife brought home with dinner, but now he was itching wanting to drink something stronger. It wasn’t something that should be okay, especially at 3 in the afternoon.

 

‘You should do it. You would feel so much better and no one would know.’ he jumped at the sudden voices that entered his mind. They tantalized him, the bottle of whiskey suddenly in his hand. He doesn’t remember picking it up. He wanted to drink so bad. To feel that familiar soothing burn going down his throat. The pleasant warmth it left inside of him. He moved a trembling hand to grab hold of the cap squeezing it tight, unsure of how to proceed.

 

“Hey, dad!” Cole’s voice cut through the kitchen and Hank quickly set the bottle down and hid it behind the groceries he had just purchased.

 

“Hey, buddy how was school--”

 

His eyes caught on a slender young man, brown hair perfectly styled in a light blue sweater vest and white button up. He looked like a geeky twink. What the hell was he doing here?

 

“Who are you?” Hank asked, and not liking the idea that he was holding onto Cole’s hand as if he knew him. The other man let go so that Cole could run into his father’s arms greeting him after a long day of school.  
 

“My name is Connor, I’m the tutor sent by the school.” giving him a perfect smile, eyes crinkling in the corners of his eyes. Hank eyed him. He certainly looked like he knew his shit and the way he interacted with Cole so far seemed nice, but Cole got along with everyone.

 

“Mr. Connor is great! He plays with me sometimes and tells me really nice stories! He’s an author!” Cole tells him excitedly. Hank smiles down at his excitement.

 

“He sounds great.” Not sounding enthused. “Why don’t you go play and let me talk with him? I wanna hear these stories.” Hank was not easy to trust, especially not when his son was involved. Cole nodded and Hank set him back down to the floor, he ran out the kitchen leaving the two men alone.

 

“So, Mr..?”

 

“Connor is fine.” he smiles at him again. Those big brown eyes appearing to stare into his very soul. It creeps him out.

 

“Connor.” Tasting the name on his tongue. “So, you’re who they sent? You seem a little young.” Hank noted.  
 

Connor let out a soft chuckle.

 

“Trust me, I’m older than I appear and more than qualified to help your son get back on track. He’s a bright young boy just needs some guidance is all.”  Connor steps around the kitchen looking at all the new things that have been added to it. He tries to hide his disgust as he feasts his eyes on the microwave and electric kettle. What atrocious contraptions.

 

“I recommend working with him one-on-one for 2 hours every day after school.” he starts out and Hank’s eyes widen.

 

“That seems a bit extreme don’tcha think?” eyebrow raised in skepticism.

 

“From what his teacher has told me he might have sugar coated how far Cole had fallen. This is extreme because it’s serious. If you value his education, then this timeframe should be suitable for what we set out to do.”

 

Hank’s eyes went downcast. Fuck. He wasn’t really given a choice. He remembered the report card. Cole was one letter grade away from failing. His concern must have been worn on his face as he was brought out of his thoughts by a soft squeeze to his shoulder. He looked up to see Connor’s soft expression.

 

“We’re doing all we can. You’re a good parent by being this worried about his education. He will be fine. We caught this slip up early on. Don’t worry.” he reassured him. His hands were cold but still felt a bloom of warmth.

 

“Yeah. Thanks. Sorry, I’ve got a lot on my plate and I know Cole hasn’t had it easy. I just feel…”

 

“Guilty? It’s understandable. But you’re doing all you can for him, and I’m sure he sees and appreciates it.” his hand remains on Hank’s shoulder for a moment longer before he retracts it  
 

There’s a moment of silence before Connor gives him one last smile making his way towards the foyer.

 

“I’ll start tomorrow then. I can see myself out.” winking before he takes his leave.

 

Hank nods, trying to process what had just happened, the touch had left him with a few thoughts, but he had decidedly brushed them off. Maybe he was just an affectionate guy.

 

\---

 

“Can you not keep it in your pants 1 second? One. That’s all I’m asking.” Gavin groaned in frustration when Connor had disappeared from the mortal eye and into the living room where Gavin had been listening in.  
 

“I don’t see what you mean. But the heart wants what it wants.” he defends himself, feigning offense even though he knows exactly what it is that his counterpart is referring to.  

 

“You weren’t thinking with your heart there, asshole.” Gavin grumbled.

 

“Are you upset that my plan is working better than yours? Or are upset that I’m moving in on your territory. He’s exactly your type after all.” A mischievous glint in his eyes. 

 

Gavin let out a low growl. If there was a secret, he knew Connor could pick up on it. It was some annoying habit of his or it was probably the fact that Gavin had been drawn to him the moment they moved int.  
 

“We’re not supposed get attached you fuckin’ idiot. We’re supposed get them the hell out of here. You saw what was happening to him before you came in. The house is already makin’ its move.”

 

Gavin had watched as the older man struggle to keep his self-control with his drinking. If Connor and Cole hadn’t interrupted, he probably would have had a more than a little to drink. They were moving too slow they needed to do something drastic.

 

Connor sauntered his way over to Gavin’s sitting form. Gavin continued to rant, and Connor slid onto his lap.

 

“Get the  _fuck_ off me.” he seethed. Connor snaked his thin arms around the other’s neck, Gavin made no attempt to move him, but his face spoke murder.

 

“I think you need some release; you have a lot on your mind. You can use me as a vessel, think about our new housemate if you wish, I don’t mind.” a knowing smirk graces his lips pressing his hips closer edging Gavin on, the man let out a stuttered breath.

 

Connor lets out an amused chuckle.

 

“You’re usually so full of moxie and here I’ve got you speechless.” He teases pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. Gavin shudders. His eyes widen as he watched Hank unknowingly walk in. He can’t see them, but Gavin still feels like he can if he makes any sudden movements.

 

The man sits on the opposing couch facing the TV and switches it to a sports channel of some sort. He stretches his arms up, lifting his shirt and exposing his strong stomach. Gavin averts his eyes and Connor gives him a smug smirk.

 

“Shut the fuck up, Connor.” Gavin tries to bite out, his gulp giving away his nerves. Tina had warned him about Connor’s appetite. Something about not being able to satisfy his hunger in life and so is constantly hungry in the afterlife looking to get a bite from anything tasty.

 

Connor looks stops kissing down his neck and looks him in the eyes expectantly. He’s surprised Gavin hadn’t pushed him off.

  
‘Fuck it’ he thinks and Gavin finally gives in crashing their lips together. Hank remains blissfully unaware as Gavin fucks Connor while thinking about him.  
  
  
\---

_There was no way out. He couldn’t leave this house despite him running out of every door hundreds of times. Why was he still here? Why couldn’t he leave? He thought all his pain would be over._

 

_Something warm ran down the back of his head. What the fuck? With a shaky hand he moves to feel for the source of the liquid. He heard a squelch of flesh as he felt the exposed hole in the back of his head. His eyes widened bringing his hand back to see red blood painting his hand._

 

_His eyes were drawn to the blood splattered on the well. Scanning down to see his own lifeless body on the floor. Gun tossed to the side; his eyes frozen open as blood pooled on the hardwood floor._

 

_“H-holy fuck.” he stammered. Was he dead? Fucking dead? He takes a step back not believing that was him. Nonononononono-_

 

_He remembers the cool feel of his lips wrapped around the barrel of the gun that man with the piercing blue eyes had given to him. That man. Who was he?_

 

_“You okay? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.” he quickly turns around to find the source of the voice._

 

_A young woman dressed in pink checkered button up tucked into high waisted light washed jeans, black hair in a side ponytail that rested on her left shoulder.  
_

_“What’s that some kind of sick joke? Who the fuck are you?” Gavin hissed, on the verge of hyperventilating, standing in front of his own lifeless corpse._

 

_Next thing he knew she put something in between his parted lips. He took it out and saw it was a cigarette. What the hell? She came closer and lit it, he was grateful for the smoke, sucking it as if his life depended on it. It wasn’t as satisfying as it used to be, but he appreciated the familiar taste and habit_

 

_“Thanks.”_

  
_"They’re yours. Stole ‘em from your room.” she shrugged._  
  
  
_Gavin took another drag of his cigarette. Taking a moment to process all of this._  
  
  
_"So, I’m...dead?” needing answers._

_  
_ _Seems that way. Did it to yourself, huh? Harsh way to go.”_

_  
_ _Gavin frowned as he watched her examine the body. As if this were something that regularly happened. She poked and prodded at his corpse. Gavin couldn’t take his eyes off the look on his face. He remembered what brought him to it. The voices that constantly berated him._

_  
_ _They were gone now. He was finally free._

_  
_ _“Hey, you alright?” suddenly appearing in front of him. He didn’t even notice the tears streaming down his cheeks. He let out a sputtered sob._

_  
_ _“I’m fuckin’ dead do I look okay!?” he shouted at her, cigarette slipping out of his mouth as he brings his hand up to cover his mouth to prevent more sobs from escaping as he cries. He was dead and he couldn’t leave forever bound to this house._

_  
_ _He felt a hand on his shoulder his red rimmed eyes snapping open in response. The young woman looked at him with sympathy, she opens her arms and Gavin cries into her shoulder for a long time._

_  
_ _After a while, his sobs slow down, and tears dry up. He leaves the comfort of her embrace and sniffles the remaining feelings away._

_  
_ _“Done freakin’ out?” she asks her voice a certain level of gentleness laced with humor. Gavin lets out a strained laugh some light returning to his eyes._

_  
_ _"You never answered my questions. Who are you?” he eyes her wearily not trusting her lack of response to the situation._

_  
_ _"Name’s Tina. I live here.” Gavin wasn’t going to question the fact that he lived alone, judging by her clothing, Tina had been here a long time. She picked up the gun, examining it closely. Gavin averted his gaze not wanting to look at the thing that brought about his death._

_  
Gavin wasn’t one for exchanging pleasantries. He feels freed and trapped at the same time. Free from the voices that plagued his mind, but in exchange seemingly shackled to this house._

_  
“C’mon I’ll introduce you to some others.” she extends her hand. Gavin takes it and wonders just how many more there were. Just how many ghosts was he living with and were any of them the voices that pushed him to kill himself?_


End file.
